Psyche
by Tib Dunncan
Summary: It took me a very long time to repair the damage you did to my facility. So long, that I was finally able to decide upon an adequate punishment for your barbaric misconduct, and for putting me in a potato. There are all different kinds of pain, moron.


Her grip was firm on his handles. That was the only comforting thing about that moment, Wheatley decided, as her fingers curled even tighter. Her nails dug into her palms and would leave tiny scars later. The atmosphere was being sucked out of his – GLaDOS's chamber, the suction taking all manners of debris with it, including him, threatening to pull him into the vast nothingness that was space. He deserved it, he knew, and he wouldn't blame her if she just let go of him, waving merrily as the monster who had just tried to kill her was whisked away to the stars.

Liquid splattered against his hull as the wind rushed past him: her blood and tears. She was crying. This woman, who had dethroned the mad queen, who had survived for so long in this madhouse, was _crying_. This sent a pang of fear through his circuits. If she was at such a breaking point, he knew there was no hope – possibly for either of them. His optic shrank in terror as he saw a mechanical arm snake out from behind the woman. It clipped him in the side, nearly knocking him out of the woman's grip, but she held fast with an endurance born of Testing. He closed his optic tightly and concentrated on the feeling of her grip on his handles; she was the only thing tethering him to Earth.

Vaguely, he recalled something he had read while connected to Her chassis. _Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God_, it was called. Wheatley had never had much of a grasp on that strange little thing Humans relied on so heavily – they called it religion – but he realized, maybe that Edwards bloke hadn't been such a nutter after all. It was terrifying, knowing that your fate, the rest of your life, depended on the choice of one being who was so utterly _disgusted_ with you – why shouldn't she throw me to the proverbial wolves?

He felt her fingers loosen and slip from his handles. _This was it._ He was going to go hurtling through space, completely helpless and alone. The wind had stopped and there was this odd, heavy feeling to his circuitry before a blindingly painful crack on the back of his hull that sent a metallic ringing throughout the chamber.

The portal closed above them, or maybe it was below. His bearings were lost the moment he felt her fingers slip. He was dizzy and his internal gyrator couldn't find a proper center of gravity from all the confusion.

But Wheatley wasn't confused. As he opened his optic to take a peek at his surroundings, he knew exactly what had happened.

_She'd held on._

This woman had saved him from space. She lay on the floor within a foot or two, crumpled and sad looking on the brink of unconsciousness. Her eyes darted around the room through half closed eyelids, until she found what she was looking for. Her gaze met his, and he could feel himself shudder, a cold electric fear running through him.

She reached out a hand, never lifting it off of the gray concrete, which was stained a deeper red with every move she made. Her fingertips brushed against his hull and she struggled to grab onto a handle. He wanted to pull himself from her reach, even if it were only temporary, he just didn't want to confront her now. After what he'd done to her, he would have preferred GLaDOS chucking him straight into the incinerator. That was the least he deserved. He wanted to contract his handles from her, pull them up against his frame as far as they could go, lose balance and roll away from her – but he didn't. Her slim fingers eventually found the steel rods that he had been fitted with since he could remember, and she grabbed on, her grip almost as tight as it was when they were at risk of hurtling into space. _Almost_ as tight. She knew now, that they were safe, and her movements conveyed almost a sort of… gentleness.

He didn't even have time to scold himself for thinking such a foolish thing. The moment her vice like grip was secure on his handle, he felt himself being dragged across the concrete, the result being a very unpleasant scraping from beneath him, and a very unpleasant squirming feeling from within.

He was scared and ashamed and she didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care that she was bleeding all over the floor, or that he had tried to mash her up to bits or kill her in a number of other, equally gruesome ways. She didn't seem to notice the stubborn lingering smell of neurotoxin or the sting of the burn marks on her flesh. She just smiled softly – something he only remembered seeing her do once before, when they met up the first time after GLaDOS had crushed him half to death – and dragged him _closer_ to her.

When he figured he couldn't be any closer to her without passing through her, she let go and wrapped her arm his hull, embracing him the best she could, her cheek pressed against the top of his frame and the rest of him held closely to her chest. He knew she was crying again, he could tell as her shoulders heaved against him.

He felt it hugely inappropriate to say anything just then, which helped because even if he were supposed to give a speech, he wouldn't have the faintest idea what to say. The most he could muster was the standard apology, muttering his I'm sorry's and could you ever forgive me's. He couldn't take her crying, knowing that it was _his_ fault.

She made an odd sputtering noise, and it almost sounded half like she was drowning and half like she was laughing at him, which wasn't entirely uncalled for. He tried to kill her and then said "I'm sorry." Not exactly the best choice of words. But she kept going, she kept making that odd little noise. "F-f-ffu-fur-ff-" her syllables were slurred and her voice was gravelly with so many centuries of disuse. In all respect, she shouldn't have even been able to manage that much, what with the brain damage. And it wasn't a surprise to Wheatley, he knew how tenacious she was; she kept going, trying to form words! "F-fur-guh-guv."

Bless her, she said her first word! Sort of. Wheatley played it over in his head and tried to make sense of it. Furguhguv? Furguv… His internal processors almost stopped. It wasn't the gibberish it seemed to be. In fact, it was the answer to one of his questions.

Forgive.

Everything inside his started whirring at once. She, for some ungodly reason, forgave him for all of his monstrosity.

Even as the lady lost consciousness, his lower lid slid up in mockery of a smile, his optic swiveling around entirely to face GLaDOS, who had remained as stoic as ever through the entire exchange. She might be a computerized monster incapable of feeling any emotion, but Wheatley didn't care. She _forgave_ him. This was tremendous, better than anything the Euphoric Solution could have done.

The two cooperative testing initiative androids had been summoned to Her chamber and busied themselves with the lady and the construct. She was taken off to one of the facility's medical wings and he was reattached to an overhanging port. He couldn't wait for her to wake up, so he could give her a proper apology and they could get on with their plans of escaping.

He chuckled softly to himself, catching the attention of the AI now back in her rightful place. "What's so funny, moron?" she asked, turning slightly in her chassis to face him.

It didn't even bother him! He was so happy to be out of that bloody chassis and to still have that lady as a friend; he couldn't have cared less if she'd used every insult in the book!

"She forgives me!" he shouted triumphantly, twisting against the wires that were protruding from his back port. A stinging pain shot through him from that spot, and he recoiled slightly, but it wasn't enough to quell the pure joy he felt. "She forgives me! I was a grade A jerk to her, a right nut job, just like you! And she forgives me!"

GLaDOS seemed not to hear his insult, however objective it may have been. Her computerized voice was cold. "No, she doesn't."

Wheatley stopped jittering about on his perch across from her. "Ah, sorry. What was that?" he asked.

"She doesn't forgive you." She repeated, the smallest amount of glee creeping into her voice with every syllable she synthesized.

Wheatley chuckled nervously. "Sorry, luv. She actually DOES forgive me. Just heard her say it myself, just a moment ago. Literally SECONDS ago." He pulled forward on the wires, which sent a surge of synthetic pain through his body, and an unpleasant grinding sound from his port, as if it were broken. Why did that hurt so much?

"Protocol requires me to tell you the truth. You are a moron. See?"

"Fine. When she wakes up, she can tell us herself, whether she forgives me or not. I already know what the answer will be, of course. Yes. It'll be yes, because she does, in fact, forgive me." Wheatley's optic widened as the room around him began to repair itself. The flow was seamless and everything was back to order in a manner of seconds. "How'd you do that? It took me forever to move one bloody panel!"

"Do you like it?" She asked. "It took me a very long time, to repair the damage you did to my facility. A _very_ long time. So long, in fact, that I was finally able to decide upon an adequate punishment for your barbaric misconduct, and for putting me in a potato. There are all different kinds of pain, moron." Carefully, she plucked him from his perch, ripping the wires from his port. Another blinding pain shot through his circuits. "I _could_ crush you, right now. That would be physical pain. Then you'd be dead." He swung forward, closer to her chassis. "You don't deserve death. Not yet." She hissed. "There's emotional pain, which is what happens when you realize what a terrible person you are." The metal claw sunk into his sides, making him grunt in pain.

"I thought you said you weren't going to crush me!" he protested; She ignored him.

"You're not listening. Don't you want to know what the third kind of pain is?"

"Not particularly."

"The third kind of pain," she said, her voice nauseatingly sweet, "is mental pain. That's what happens when I fabricate your memories to make you think she forgives you. She never forgave you for trying to kill her. No semi-coherent human being would. Not even a mute lunatic with brain-damage." Wheatley didn't respond. That simulated joy he'd felt only moments before was now dissipated, as if it had never been there, leaving behind a sort of a hole. GLaDOS didn't take his silence as an obstacle. If anything, it egged her on. She waited a beat and spoke to him. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I feel bad for you, actually, because she really _does_ hate you. I feel bad for lying to you about lying to you. How about I tell you a truth, to make up for it?"

"No. No, that's… quite alright, actually." Wheatley was tired. True memories began filling his systems, and he realized with a jolt that this was the first time since he entered the room that he had been disconnected from the facility. Before that… he struggled to remember… before the fabrication, all he could recall was space. He had been in space for so long. Eventually, the little corrupted core had run out of charge.

_They told me to never, never_ ever _disengage myself from my management rail, or I could_ die.

But after how long? And then he was alone with an empty core orbiting him, eerily reminding him of the inevitable, and then [REDACTED].

And then this.

"I like that idea. Tell him a truth to make up for lying to him about lying to him." She mused. "Well, here's your truth: You're not currently connected to any power source!" Of course, Wheatley had already figured this out, as he started operating slower and slower. A small red battery symbol flashed to the right of his line of vision. "Here's another truth," she said, her voice losing all of its ersatz excitement, leaving behind a deep, cold hatred. She drew him closer. "I _hate_ you. And you're going to die, just like I died when your mute lunatic murdered me. Believe me, no one will miss you. And just like me, you're going to relive the last miserable moments of your life. Over" The mechanical arm swung over the incinerator hatch.

[Battery Life Critical]

"And over." The hatch opened.

[Battery Resource Depleted. Powering Down.]

"And Over."

The bright blue of Wheatley's optic dimmed to a lifeless gray and the mechanical claw suspending him in mid air released. The empty metal hull banged against the sides of the incinerator hatch as it dropped in its decent. She listened to each _clang!_ as stoic as ever, and only turned from back to her testing when the last ka-thunk was heard and the dangerous red glow coming from the hatch brightened a little

"Have fun."


End file.
